VIV LONGLEY Scar Tissue Mum told me I fell off my trike charging down the orchard, pretending I was a horse. I failed to gallop round the fence, and landed in the nettle patch. My skin remembers. I still reach…
AGBRIGG WRITERS By four we’ve closed the shutters By four we’ve closed the shutters Light’s fled the skies Throughout the ailing autumn We watched it go sadly and painfully. Now blessed solstice dawns Not just the shortest day But life’s…
SILVIA PIO Clouds crowd this instant suspended like a weightless veil wrapping the view while suns flow by in blue cuttings of sky. In the clouds we read stories of an existence floating above ours like a light touch upon…
SILVIA PIO She saw the bottom where the water was sweet, surrendered her body to the waves she feared as a gift, and dreamed the dreams she had kept to give as presents wrapped with indecision (and you used to…
JOHN IRVING CLARKE When he woke, the woman was standing over him. He took in his surroundings – the scrubby bushes under which he’d thrown himself, the wind barging through the paltry shelter, the darkening sky – and he would…
SILVIA PIO Air Made of air our memories are smuggled from oblivion, a habit of ours. Our thoughts are mysteries of wind wafting with our wandering; a breath of incense, a puff of sky intangible, impossible to quantify. The vital…
VIV LONGLEY Agbrigg Writers, a creative writing group in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, UK, has held together for nearly a decade now with six of the initial core membership still attending most of the time. It is defined by several characteristics…
